Page 29 of His to Bedevil

Irma

Dr. Bernard said that I’m looking good and on the fast track to recovery. I should be myself in no time. Which is great news, because I have to find a way to get myself and Matches out of Alejo’s Cuban estate. So, I need to bide my time and behave. At least until I can case out his place in Cuba, and the only way I’ll be given any kind of freedom there is to be on my best behavior and to earn some of his trust.

Right now, we’re pulling up in front of a very high-end, well-known boutique in Miami. It’s a place I have been to a couple of times, treating myself after a well-paying job. The sun has already gone down, and we’re arriving in a blacked-out SUV with one in front of us and one behind us. I have no idea if this very tight security is because of me or if that’s how Alejandro always rolls. How did I not know about him before? I must have really been stuck inside of my own reality.

His men in the other two vehicles jump out first. A few of them post up outside of the shop, and Diego and some others enter. It’s not until Diego comes back out that we are finally allowed to exit our own vehicle. Alejandro jumps out first and offers me his hand. Naturally, I want to refuse him, but I have to think of Matches. Behave and be somewhat pleasant. I accept his help by placing my hand in his. His much larger and calloused hand engulfs mine, and he doesn’t let go of it as we head into the shop. I feel so awkward holding hands like this. The possessive grip he has on mine makes me feel like a child in tow.

The store owner comes to introduce herself to us, and to my surprise, Alejandro is polite and amicable with the woman. She must not know who he really is, because she stares up at him with infatuation and little to no fear. Yeah, he’s gorgeous. With his caramel-colored skin and golden eyes, and lips that are so soft with the perfect little bow at the top and the bottom lip full and the richest color… okay. He is easy to look at.

She offers us each a glass of champagne, and when I go to accept it, Alejo declines them. My eyes snap to his. “Are you serious? I could actually use a glass of champagne right now.” I seethe, forgetting for a moment that I’m supposed to be kissing his ass. But I could really use a drink. More like ten, and something much stronger than champagne, butsomething. Anything!

Alejo glances down at me. “Doctor said no alcohol just yet,” he simply states.

“It’s one glass of champagne, Alejo,” I mutter. Then I change tactics and give him my cloying smile and bat my eyelashes. “Please?” I ask sweetly.

His nostrils flare as he inhales. “Fine. One glass.”

I’m shocked he gave in, and I know I’m showing too much excitement for this glass of sparkling wine, but I don’t care. I happily accept the glass from the woman and thank her. Knowing that Alejo most likely won’t let me have another, I patiently sip on it, savoring every little drop. It’s been, like, a month without alcohol, and I’m very underweight, so one glass will most likely feel like five. Even better.

The woman leads me back to a nice fitting room as she talks my ear off. “I would take your measurements, but you’re so tiny, I think it’s safe to say you’ll take the smallest size of everything. What size shoe do you wear, Ms. Ramirez?”

Hearing anyone call me by my real name is still a little unnerving. “Please, call me Fynn. I’m a five and a half or six, and the higher the heel the better.”

“Okay, I will see what we have in your size. How about you head on into the fitting room and strip down? Señor Martinez mentioned that you’ll need everything from undergarments to jewelry?”

I glance over at Alejo, who’s hanging back some. He’s busy talking to Diego, and I’m anxious to know if they have Matches yet. Nope, can’t think about that right now, because it’ll only upset me and I am helpless. I look back at the woman whose name I cannot remember for the life of me. “I guess so.” Alejo can go ahead and waste away his money on a wardrobe I won’t be using, because as soon as I come up with a plan, I’m escaping.

She beams, probably very pleased about the commission she’s about to make. “Perfect. Take your time while I gather a few things to start with. One more question. What bra size are you?”

“I’m a 32 C,” I respond, and she mentally makes a note of it and leaves.

Sipping the very nice champagne, I head into the fitting room and close the curtain behind me. The fitting room is extremely spacious, with a mirror covering the entire back wall and a small podium in the center. There’s also a nice love seat tucked away in the corner, and I’m surprised Alejandro hasn’t followed me in here to watch me change like some perv.

Stilling for a moment, I pause to make sure he really isn’t going to follow me in here. I know he’s seen me naked a few times already. Hell, he insists on bathing me and helping me get dressed, but this would be different. It would seem way too domestic. Shopping together, him watching me try clothes on and giving me opinions like we’re some couple in a relationship.

When I’m almost certain he won’t be coming in, I begin stripping out of the clothes I was given only an hour ago. I swear, he would rather me prance around in his T-shirts and nothing else. I know damn well the man could have a bathtub filled with gold within the hour if he demanded it, but it took several hours to get me a damn dress to throw on.

I take the simple knee-length sundress off and stand there in the simple white cotton panties and matching white cotton bra that is one size too small. The lights feel too bright in here, reflecting off my skin like the sun. It almost makes me feel like there’s a spotlight on me, and I’m suddenly self-conscious and insecure. Not at all a feeling I’m used to.

Fuck it.I pick up the glass of champagne and finish it in one go.

Standing in front of the mirror, I can’t help but cringe. I’m still very much underweight. I was already thin to start with, and being only five feet tall, every lost pound is noticeable. My hip bones are jutting out, you can see my ribs when I inhale, and my arms and legs are like sticks. Some females would love being this skinny, but not me. I enjoy the curves I have. Since I’m very lacking in height, the curves make me feel more like a woman.

“All right, Ms. Ramirez. Here we are.” She comes in rolling a clothing rack full of clothes. She didn’t ask me anything about my style, and I’m hoping she didn’t go off of what I came in wearing, because it was not me. I don’t do cute little floral sundresses like the one that Alejandro had put on me.

Feeling agitated, I correct her once again. “Fynn. It’s Fynn.” The woman gives me a silent nod. I’m sure Alejo told her to call me Ms. Ramirez, and so that’s what she’ll continue to call me.

Thankfully, she brought me a variety of styles and explained that this was to first get an idea of what my likes and dislikes are. I start out with a super-cute romper. It’s red with white flowers. It bares my shoulders, and the sleeves are flared. The material is light and flowy, and right now it fits very loosely on me.

I turn and look at the woman. “I’ve recently lost some weight, but I’m not usually this thin.” I glance down at my chicken legs and blush.

“Oh, you look great, dear.” She waves a hand and heads for the row of shoes she brought in. Reading my mind, she picks out a pair of white platform wedged sandals and brings them over to me.

I grin down at them. “Perfect.” I sit down on the edge of the podium and put them on myself, refusing to let her put them on me like I’m a Barbie doll. It’s bad enough that Alejandro treats me like his little doll, I don’t need a stranger to as well. I mean, he not only still insists on carrying me around most of the time, and he helped get me dressed, but he also brushed my fucking hair. Yes, he sat me down on a chair and brushed my hair. I fucking hated it. He was treating me like some helpless child. It was humiliating, degrading, demeaning… and soothing. Yes, I’ll admit, it was soothing and a little comforting. Something about being forced to let him take care of me, I can take a rest from taking care of myself. Because that’s what I’ve had to do most of my life. It’s because I have both mommy and daddy issues. That’s what it is. It’s why I’m a little fucked in the head and get a tiny enjoyment out of his pampering.

Standing up on my chicken legs, I step up onto the podium and check myself out in the mirror. Behind me I see the woman, who remains nameless to me, head for the curtain, and my eyes widen. “What are you doing?” I snap.

She clutches the curtain and twists her head back to look at me. “Señor Martinez wants to see everything,” she simply says.

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